High School Sweetheart
by colei.yt
Summary: Zuko follows Katara on her journey of self-discovery and healing. Will their love stand the test of time?


**Avatar is the name I have given to the fictional continent containing the Fire Nation, Earth Kingdom, Water Tribes and Air Nomads. Hope everyone enjoys this fic, the story came to me late one night in July. Disclaimer: nothing but the plot is mine, all characters and familiar places are property of their respective creators.**

* * *

 **PROLOGUE**

 _Friday 29th August 2008_

"I don't know when your mother is coming back, child," Gran-Gran told her seven-year-old granddaughter, who was incessantly bouncing up and down in the woman's lap, asking after her parents who'd embarked on one of their "date nights".

"She promised she'd be back in time to hear my story," Katara responded earnestly, causing her brother to scoff from where he sat, not even bothering to look up from his Nintendo as he did so.

"Then I'm sure she will," Gran-Gran said, patting Katara's head.

 _OOO_

"The _rebels_ ," Katara heard her father say later that night, after Gran-Gran had forced her to sleep. "The fucking rebels," he broke off into tears that made his daughter uncomfortable.

Dad's weren't supposed to cry.

Behind her, Katara heard her brother tiptoe to listen in on the whispered conversation too. Gran-Gran was embracing their father now, her own body shuddering with silent sobs. Tears rolled down Katara's cheeks without her even knowing why. All she knew was that the adults were sad.

"What will I do?" Her father said, in a broken voice Katara had never heard.

"You will go on," his mother informed him firmly. "For the children."

Katara turned to find Sokka's face similarly wet; like their father, he was shaking with sadness. "It's Mum," he informed her through his tears. "She's gone."

 _OOO_

Katara wasn't allowed to go to the funeral.

She stayed at home with a distant cousin who'd volunteered to baby sit. Sokka had gone – their uncle had insisted that Sokka should be there. Nobody had insisted on Katara's behalf. They'd left her at home, with her mother's flowery scent still dancing through the halls, thinking that if they ignored her, she might be spared the pain they all felt. They didn't know that she understood everything. They didn't know that she stayed up till it was dark so she could listen to the important conversations; and that she heard it all. How Fire Nation rebels _accidentally_ killed her mother when a bomb, meant to be an attack on British civilians against the Western world and how it treated their humble continent went off in the Northern Water Tribe instead. The continent her mother had been born and raised in.

 _OOO_

"Why do we have to move?" Sokka demanded. "All my friends live _here_ ," he enunciated, gesturing wildly to the snow outside that indicated they were in the Southern Water Tribe.

Their father looked about a hundred years old when he tiredly answered his son, "because it's safer over there."

"In _England_?" Sokka exclaimed, incredulously. "We don't know anyone there!"

"There will be plenty from home there," their father said patiently.

"A lot of us have been offered a life in the UK," Gran-Gran intoned. "An olive branch, of sorts."

"People from the Earth Kingdom and the Air Nomads too," their father added.

"But that's not our _home_ —"

Katara tuned her family out at this point. Sokka's pleas and demands were being heard, yet hers had not even been asked for. Nobody wanted to know how she felt about leaving the one place she could remember her mother being in. The one place her mother had ever lived. Her dad had just patted her head and commended her for being such a good girl. _No fuss_ , he'd said.

 _OOO_

"Where are you going?" Katara asked her father who was wearing the army uniform she had only ever seen in old photos.

He knelt down to ruffle her hair, so very much like her late mother's. "Away," he said softly. "I gotta go fight crime," he attempted a smile, but it came out blurry.

Gran-Gran stood behind him, looking very solemn. She hadn't said a word that day. "When will you come back?" Katara said.

"As soon as I'm done," her dad answered in a sad replica of his old teasing tone.

Everything in her life was a sad replica of days gone.

"Sokka will take care of you," he promised, causing his son to nod in agreement determinedly. "And you'll be a good girl, won't you?"

Katara nodded firmly.

 _OOO_

Later that night, Katara had wandered alone down the winding roads of their new home, telling herself that now her father had left her she'd best learn to fend for herself. She could be a good girl. She'd always been a good girl. Her mother often said so. It was why so many people thought _Katara_ was the older sibling.

Lost in her thoughts of just how exactly she'd make everything run smoothly by being the best girl she could be, Katara missed her footing and tripped over by standing on one of her own undone laces. Due to the broken glass sprinkled seemingly all over this new city, her leg was now torn to bloody shreds.

She could feel tears welling in her eyes. She'd promised she wouldn't cry – not after seeing her father reduced to a weeping mess for nigh on a month. Katara had promised she'd stay strong. But the blood was scaring her, and the pain was biting her.

Katara was sure she had blacked out. When Teigen from back home had torn a muscle in her leg while play-fighting, the pain had caused her to fall unconscious for nearly two hours, even after Sokka had managed to locate an adult. Katara was certain this pain she felt was the same and that her body would do her the favour of robbing her the ability to feel it.

But she remembered a boy. Dark, like a winter night. His hair had been long, she remembered it tickling her face as he hoisted her into his bony arms. She remembered apologising weakly for ruining his clothes with her blood.

 _OOO_

Katara and Sokka had lived in England for four years. The years had seen their accents diluted to better match the lingo used in their new home. Sometimes, the siblings forgot they hadn't lived in Manchester's suburb their whole life. Sokka played football on the streets just as well as any native; Katara listened to every British band even vaguely relevant, and had had all their posters on her wall at some point. It would cause their father pain, those few times he returned home on leave, to see the Water Tribe ways so drastically absent in his children.

He perfectly remembered seeing his son train in the ancient art of bending, vowing he'd become the next chief of the Water Tribe. Sokka would read the historical scrolls of the Tribe as if his life depended on it, determined to know everything there was to know about their home.

He perfectly remembered his daughter being the town's resident healer, despite not even being a decade old. The wives of the tribe had taken Katara under their wing, where she flourished, managing to concoct healing salves from the sparse ingredients available.

But alas, the two had settled into their new life quite well. And when the morn of Katara's first day of high school arrived – she wore her new uniform with pride. It was neat and clean, every button done up perfectly. Her skirt hung crisply at her knees, which had been encased in dark stockings. She was picture perfect – exactly as school regulations dictated.

That was not a surprise, however. Katara had always been one to follow rules – the perfect student.

Sokka walked his sister to school that day with ease, happily greeting and stopping to chat with the numerous classmates he saw on the way, not noticing just how anxious Katara was to actually set foot _inside_ the school rather than stand outside of it so Sokka could have a good catch up. But eventually, he led her past the school gates, casually pointing out little things he thought she might appreciate: ' _that's where the stoners smoke during break, so stay away._ ' or, ' _you can get away with using your phone in_ _ **that**_ _corner but nowhere else._ ' Katara dutifully listened and stored all the information away.

"Oi! Sokka – five a side before first lesson?" A tall boy called. Katara vaguely remembered him from the few times Sokka invited friends over. _Jet_ , she thought his name was.

Sokka glanced at his sister. "You good here? I can bring you to – "

"Just go," she told her brother, smiling. "I'll be fine."

Planting a playful kiss on her head, Sokka jogged over to the huddle of boys throwing a football around.

Alone, Katara ventured towards the other year sevens. They were all mostly her height and build, which calmed her somewhat. They all looked rather silly, she decided, a bunch of primary school children playing dress up with their parents' shirts and ties, she thought.

Just as she began to think that perhaps high school wouldn't be all that bad, Katara happened to notice a young girl with strikingly dark hair and blazing gold eyes, being jostled by two older boys. Sokka had warned Katara about boisterous year eights, who enjoyed teasing the only kids in school they could get away with doing it to. With this in mind, Katara strode purposefully towards the scene.

" – Zuko's little sister aren't you?" One of the bullies jeered.

"Gonna be as much of pathetic loser as your big bro?"

"Leave her _alone_ ," Katara said, her voice sounding small to her own ears.

" _Ooooh_ ," the boys exclaimed, clearly delighted with this turn of events. "Little miss to the rescue, eh?"

Katara stubbornly crossed her arms and cast a mean glare at the boys before turning to her fellow year seven. "Let's go," she offered. "My brother _Sokka_ will show us to assembly."

Mentioning Sokka's name had the desired effect, and soon the two boys left, deciding that bullying Sokka's little sister wasn't worth the trouble.

"I'm Katara," she held her hand out to the girl.

"Azula," the girl replied, ignoring Katara's outstretched hand. "Don't do that again. I don't need the help of some Water Tribe peasant."

Katara was left with thin air, as Azula quickly departed, entering the school with the confidence of someone who'd been there for years, rather than a first year student who'd been pointedly told to wait outside until first bell rang.

"Sorry about her," Katara looked up at the face of the low voice. "She probably won't be in your classes anyways."

His hair was dark and flopped over his eyes in a very familiar way. He shifted uncomfortably when she failed to respond, instead choosing to squint her eyes at him trying to gauge why she recognised him.

"Just stay out of her way," he finished and then he was gone.

As he moved past her, Katara instantly noticed his scent. Minty fresh, not as strong as her toothpaste but perhaps like the mint broth her mother often stewed back home. He was the one who'd quite literally carried her home all those years ago, leaving money in an envelope for her medical expenses.

"That's Zuko," Katara turned to see a small, green eyed girl by her. "Older brother of the bitch you just met."

How can _**he**_ be related to **_her_**?


End file.
